"No--no."
"Open to me."
"Are you still mad?"
Silence held a moment. Then the voice rose again, with the hoarse moan of the wind for an underchant.
"Liberty, liberty, I am free, I am free."
She shrank aside against the wall.
"The night gave me my chance; I have men in the wood. Let me in."
"Ah, messire."
"I plead for love and my own soul. I come to give you life, sword, all. I cannot leave you; I am in outer darkness; you are in heaven. Let me in."
She stood swaying like a reed in a breeze. Her brain glowed like some rich scheme of colour, some sun-ravished garden. The massed moan of a hundred viols seemed to sweep over her soul. God, for the courage to be weak!